Becoming one with Russia
by hedgehogkween
Summary: After a series of wars and an economic slump Spain, Romano, and their son are forced to move in with Russia. Hetalia characters don't belong to me, Spamano, crack pairings, mention of mpreg, minor OC usage.
1. Chapter 1

Becoming one with Russia

Chapter 1

Spain sat on the wooden park bench, gazing up at his once beautiful capitol city. The buildings crumbling and more than not collapsed under their own weight. The capitol building, at one time shining new and freshly painted, was now caked with dirt and mud, half fallen apart itself. He sighed and shook his head.

"What's happened to our countries?" he asked absently to his younger friend.

"Beats me." He replied "Ever since the last wars started, everything's been going down everywhere." Spain sighed and looked down at the small child sleeping in his arms. He was glad that at least his capitol city was safe enough to be alive.

"At least we still have Madrid." He pointed out "Romano, you at least have to be thankful for that."

"I'll only be thankful when everything is back to normal." He replied flatly. He was staring off angrily at nothing. "My stupid brother… had to go live with those axis-powers guys…" he grumbled something to quietly to hear. Spain looked at him faking hope just in time to see the faucet end of a metal water pipe wrap around his neck. They looked us to see a very tall man standing over them.

"Privet." He said, grinning down at them.

"Why the hell are _you_ here?" Romano shouted, trying in vain to pull the faucet pipe off of his neck.

"Romano, be polite." Spain said quietly, staring up at Russia. "Hello Russia. What brings you here?"

"Nothing." He replied perkily, still not removing the pipe. "There's nothing left here that would bring anyone here, is there?"

"Is that why you came then, to tell us that?" Romano shouted.

"No." he replied. "I came to give you an offer. I don't think it would be wise to turn it down, considering the state of your capitol city, Ispanii. Not to mention your wife and son."

"I'm _not_ his wife!" screamed Romano. Spain glanced warily down at his son, holding him closer.

"What exactly is it you want?" he asked shakily "There's nothing else that we have. Our countries are almost completely taken over."

"Well…" started Russia "there is still something you have. You've still got yourselves. You could-"

"NO!" Romano shouted "We won't make a deal with you! Spain, don't do it!" Russia pulled against the pipe, bringing Romano's neck closer to him.

"All I was going to say," he said, sounding slightly annoyed "is that you have options. You could stay here and hope to survive against all odds, trying to prevent another war to tear you two apart. Or…" he smiled "you could come with me." Romano's eyes grew wide with shock. He was about to scream something to the taller man when Spain cut in.

"Romano…" he started nervously "please stop shouting. You'll wake up Madrid." Russia looked at Spain for a moment before realizing what he was talking about.

"Ah, so Madrid is what you named your little rebenok." He stepped closer to Spain and peered over his shoulder. "How cute." Romano pulled against the water pipe again, only resulting in being pulled back again.

"Spain!" Romano shouted against the water pipe "You can't seriously be considering-"

"Russia." Spain started, looking straight at the taller man, trying to look serious. "I… don't know about this… I don't think that we should but…" he glanced cautiously down at Madrid, still sleeping soundly "it would probably be better for Madrid. He's so young…" Romano stared in shock. Russia released the pipe from around his neck and leaned against the back of the bench.

"I thought you might take my offer." He said, obviously satisfied. "I'm sure Madrid will thank you for it someday." Spain nodded and stood up from the bench.

"Come on Romano." He said, offering his free hand to him. "We're going with Russia." Romano refused to take it and stood on his own.

"Are you crazy?" he almost shouted, more wary of the sleeping child.

"No," replied Spain "I'm doing what's best for you two. This is no way to raise a child." he smiled sadly at Romano "you should know that at least, you are the mother." Russia grabbed Romano's arm and led him off toward the nearest active airport, Spain following close behind.

XxXxXxXxX

"I only came with you for Madrid's sake." Romano said tensely.

"I know." Replied Spain emptily. "You can hold him for a while if you want. I'm going to call your brother and tell him where we're going." Spain handed the now awake Madrid to Romano and walked to a quieter part of the plane. Russia had brought a military airplane, the same kind he'd jumped out of and broken his back so many years ago. Romano refused to go on to or let Madrid or Spain go onto the plane until Russia closed the sides so that there wouldn't be another accident. Spain walked to the back of the plane where it was quiet. He dialed the number, took a deep breath, and pressed the call button. There were a few seconds of ringing before someone picked up.

"veh, Hello?" came a groggy sounding Italy.

"Hey Ita." There were a few seconds of silence on the other end before there was a _thump_ on the other end."Ita?"

"_SPAIN?" _Italy screamed so loud that he had to remove his ear from the speaker for a few seconds to recover. "Where have you been? We've been trying to get to you and Romano ever since you called us about Madrid! Why haven't you picked up? Is anything wrong? Where are you? Where's Romano? Is Madrid okay, is he sick?"

"They're fine. Well, about as close to fine as there is these days. I'm sorry we haven't picked up lately, it's just that Romano and I lost our phones when the capitol collapsed."

"Wait," Italy cut in "If you don't have any phones, where are you calling from?"

"Well, that's part of the reason I called, Romano and I-"

"Hold on a second, Germany and Japan just came in. I'm going to put it on speaker phone." There was some excited babbling, probably Italy, and some shouts of surprise or disbelief before I heard anything else. "So Spain, what were you about to say?' Italy asked hopefully.

"Well, Romano and I… we're going to…" Spain took another deep breath. "We're going to live with Russia." Dead silence. It remained completely silent for a solid 30 seconds before anything could be heard.

"S-Spain," Germany said "Could you say that again?"

"It was hard enough to say the first time." He replied "Romano is right here if you want to-"

"Impossible!" Italy shouted, sounding like he was close to tears "Romano would never… He hates Russia!"

"Italy, we had to. If we didn't, well, I'm not sure how we would've survived. _If_ we would have survived." There was a whimpery sound like crying from the other end and a short _beep_ told that speakerphone had been turned off.

"Spain, it's Germany." He started "I think Italy wants to talk to Romano. He's a little-"

"Sure." Spain interrupted "He's right here, I'll give him the phone." Spain walked back to where Romano was sitting, holding Madrid up so that he could see out the window. He looked a little surprised when Spain came back with the phone.

"Is anything wrong?" he asked.

"Ita wants to talk to you." Spain handed him the phone. Romano handed him Madrid and held the phone to his ear, but quickly pulled it away again. The loud sounds of sobbing could be heard from the other end. Romano walked to the other end of the plane to talk. He was gone for a long time, and when he finally came back he looked tired. He sighed and sat down. Madrid had fallen back asleep.

"So… what's up?" Spain asked.

"He was trying to convince me not to go to Russia." He said, sounding stressed and exhausted. "He was trying to tell me it would be better for us over there, and he refused to listen when I told him we were already half way there."

"We're more than half way there." Spain and Romano turned around to see Russia standing behind them, arms crossed against the top of the seat. "Actually, we're about 10 minutes from Moscow right now. I hope things go over fine between you and your brother Romano." He walked toward the front of the plane. "By the way, don't worry about landing. We're not jumping out this time."

XxXxXxXxX

Poor Spain and Romano. I don't actually plan on continuing this unless people like it.


	2. Chapter 2

Spain groaned, groping around for their alarm clock to shut it off. It was always, always right next to his ear. When he found it he pounded it with his fist until the bleeping ceased. It was too late; the large form in the bed beside him was already moving, one tree-trunk arm flopping around his middle and pulling him closer.

"Eh, b-buenos dias." he tittered nervously. Sleepy lilac-colored eyes blinked at him, followed by a little grin.

"доброе утро…" He rolled over, taking the startled Spaniard with him. "You slept well, I hope? Nothing hurts?"

"Ah, h-heh… no more than usual…" Spain forced a little chuckle. It had been almost two years that they had been living with Russia- twenty-one months, in counting. In that time, the Russian had taken a bit of a liking to his guest, and they had turned it into a bit of an exchange; Spain would spend a few nights a week with his host, and Russia wouldn't kick them out. Both sides were obligated to keep up their ends of the deal. For Russia, it was simply a matter of keeping what land he had- not that he didn't have plenty, but it would be a bit awkward to explain to his boss that he was kicking them out because he couldn't get Spain in bed anymore- and for the couple it was a matter of their lives. Save for the few royal bloodlines remaining, as well as ruined cities, nothing remained of either of their countries. Leaving the polar nation's household was practically suicide, not to mention instant death for their little three-year-old son.

After a few minutes of intense snuggling, Russia's grip slowly slackened. He fell onto his back, snoring softly, his little smile still in place. Spain took it as his cue to leave and did exactly that, taking his usual pajamas and pulling them on hastily to cover his hickey laden chest and thighs, and sore-like-hell behind. He made his way down to the kitchen, rubbing his eyes. The usual scent of coffee and something baking was already wafting through the halls of the great house. It sort of scared him how their little household had grown over the past year. Past enemies of theirs, now considered acquaintances. Romano had a hell of a time adjusting to that much, not to mention having to share the kitchen.

On his way downstairs he passed the usual sight; one scruffy haired blond in the sitting room, holding an archaic mug and sipping it solemnly, as well as a second blonde sitting just to his side. He gave the Spaniard a little wave, one arm wrapped around his friend's shoulder.

"Bonjour Espagne…" he called quietly. The Spaniard stopped, approaching them with a little frown. He looked over the smaller nation in the Frenchman's arms. His frail hands were trembling, creating little ripples in the coffee he didn't seem to be drinking.

"How's he doing?" he asked. France's little smile faded. He gave the man in his arms a nudge and he seemed to come to life, blinking and holding the cup slightly more steadily, his peridot eyes wandering the room for a moment before settling on nothing directly in front of him.

"He left me…" came the soft grumble of a voice. "A-after all I've done for him, th-that idiot left me to die… I-I should have n-never let him g-go, I-I've b-been such a f-fool…" Blood bubbled from his lips, dribbling down his chin in small streams. The shakiness returned to his hands. Little tears rolled down his pale cheeks. The other two nations acted quickly, France grabbing the cup before it was dropped and shattered and Spain raising a cloth napkin to his lips to catch the blood before it reached his clothing. The blond coughed a few times, his eyelids fluttering wildly, hands hanging in the air as if waiting for the cup to return, or something of similar size. "C-come back… y-you idiot, c-come back! D-don't leave me here alone!" He was nearly screaming now. France sat up, taking the cloth and holding it in place himself. He shushed the island nation and carefully, ever so carefully eased him back, whispering sweet little nothings in an accent foreign to all but the little blond in his arms. He sniffled, his breathing slowing. After a few moments he was left almost completely motionless, his arms resting in his lap. When the blood had stopped flowing France took the mug, opened his mouth a little, and tipped a few sip's worth of the drink in. He swallowed and gave a little mumble of thanks. Spain just watched; not even his natural optimism could give him hope for the poor creature sitting before him.

"So… not much better, by the looks of it." He muttered. France nodded sadly, letting the Brit's head lull against his shoulder.

"It's like he's in his own little world… I can sit him down somewhere and just leave him there for hours, he won't budge, won't talk to anyone, go anywhere, just stare straight ahead…" he sighed, stroking his fingers through the island nation's hair. Green eyes were still fixed on some invisible, far-off point in front of him. "I-I hate the fact that there's not a thing I can do…" Spain looked up at him.

"Well… I think it's quite a feat that you've stayed with him this long." He managed a little smile. Francis sighed, pressing his lips to England's hairline but saying nothing in response. Spain watched a little longer before giving France a wave and continuing to the kitchen. His little smile returned when he saw his dearly beloved standing at the stove, little Madrid hanging on his ankles. He crept up behind him, holding a finger to his lips when he was spotted by their son, and grabbing the Italian's hips from behind. This little trick was rewarded with a quick swat over the shoulder with a hot spatula, and would have been followed with another if he hadn't been recognized.

"D-damn it Spagna!" He shouted. The Spaniard just laughed and pecked a kiss to his cheek.

"Buenos dias~" His hands slid down from his hips, turning from a joking little grab into a hug from behind. "You look just as beautiful as ever on this fine morning… how do you feel?" he asked, hands resting over the other's stomach. He scoffed, turning back to the stove.

"Just fine, thank you." He muttered. "That wine-loving bastard insisted on making the coffee this morning. I had to make more just for you and I and… _him_." He nearly spat the final word. "I think I would be in a better mood if you would come to bed every once and a while. Madrid asks about you, I can't keep telling him that I don't know where you're going…" He stopped. There was a time when he would have followed with the obvious question of 'where are you going?', but he had long since given up on this. He decided that he didn't care. At least, he liked to tell himself that he had.

"Heh, wh-what can I say? Lots of things that need doing late at night…" His eyes drifted away from his husband- wife?- to the little boy clinging to his leg. He knelt down, opening his arms and picking the boy up. "They say it's going to snow soon…"

"It always snows."

"Si, but it's going to be powder snow, they think. Nice for outdoor play. We could bundle up, go out and have-"

"I don't care what kind of snow it is, I hate it all. Besides, even if I wanted to I couldn't go out like this…" he muttered. Spain nodded.

"Ah, of course, I almost forgot…" He leaned down until he was eye-level with the little bump in Romano's stomach. "And how are you doing today little one? Is your mama treating you well, taking good care of you?" He put his eat to it as if he could hear his response. Madrid did the same, listening intently and whining when he couldn't hear a thing. Spain simply laughed and told him to go play. He pouted, but waddled out of the kitchen area and back to his toy trains. They were fine little things, painted beautifully bright colors of red and blue and gold and green with a jet black engine, a gift from their host. Romano watched him chug the little trains along imaginary rails, glaring distastefully at the toys.

"I hate to see him touch those little things…" he muttered. Spain looked up, frowning a little.

"Now now Roma, bite your tongue…" he chastised, leaning in. "We don't know when _he's_ listening to us…" He added the last bit in a whisper before returning back to his lover's stomach, cooing over it playfully before they heard the usual clomping of heavy, fluffy bunny slippers overhead. The house seemed to fall silent at that sound. Despite only growing a few inches, the Russian man had gained a lot of weight over the past year or so. Not as if the facts correlated, but everyone else seemed to have lost weight, especially the little island nation- although this may have been for different reasons additionally. Spain reluctantly pulled away from Romano, going to set the table for everyone. He knew by now how he liked it set up. They all watched from their different rooms as the pink slippers came into view, stopping at the top of the stairs. The tall man standing there had his usual plastic smile in place, grinning down at what he thought to be his perfect little household.

"доброе утро everyone~" he called. They all mumbled a heavily accented and mispronounced version of the greeting. France pulled England a little closer, turning his head so that he wouldn't have to see- if he did see- and realize where he was.

…

Haha, hey, did I take long enough for you guys? I honestly didn't think I was going to continue this, but I think I've left this particular little oneshot festering for too long. Also, 21 months, I believe that's about the amount of time since I posted the last chapter. Good luck coaxing me into another one~


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